


Misunderstood

by Kafoomph



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Blake Fields, Brief mention of Sungs CGI team, I'm not sure why I wrote this, just nonsense, the TWRP Show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:28:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24339652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kafoomph/pseuds/Kafoomph
Summary: One of the members of TWRP misunderstands the fans reaction to their western themed TWRP Show tweet, and this is basically what happens.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Misunderstood

Phobos glanced at the replies to the tweet they'd put out for the TWRP show on Saturday and felt his robotic stomach drop. He'd paid a lot of gold for his stomach, lovingly installed about a millennia ago to allow him to eat again without damaging his internal systems and it was by far his favourite upgrade. Even if it was betraying him at this particular moment. Huffing, he looked again at the replies and tried to judge if he should get worried or just hope no one else in the band had noticed what he had. So far it only looked like a few troublemakers, not even replying in the first hour, so the likelihood that  **he'd** seen them should be slim. A thoughtful chord progression slipped from his fingers. Maybe he should text Meouch…? Get a battle plan together just in case. 

  
  


A couple of blocks in an undisclosed direction, a phone buzzed with a new text causing the lion faced chimera to pull his head from the fridge where he'd been hoping a nice steak would suddenly materialize. Grabbing a packet of cold meat to at least have something to snack on, Meouch hurriedly wiped a paw against his jeans before unlocking his phone. Scanning the five word text from Phibbis the cat man blinked in surprise.

"Aw hell."

  
  
  


Havve scanned the replies to the TWRP show tweet and considered their content. People were still excited about their weekly shows. This was good. Still there was a lot to be done before the show and he had work to do.

  
  
  


Sung was waist deep in his closet, knowing that it was in here somewhere. It had to be. Unless he'd given it to Gooby to be used as a dog bed…  
Nah, when he bought the thing in the first place it was because he knew, just knew, that it'd be needed! Now, if only he could find the dang thing.

Rufus watched impassively from the bed. A small huff was all he needed to get his owners attention then it was all pets and "you're a good boy"s, until his owner suddenly went still, his cold nose doing nothing to retrieve his owners attention. Instead a ratty old cloth was being pulled from a storage crate under the bed. A gentle hand went to scratch at the  _ perfect _ spot as his owner quietly murmured with a smile, "Clever boy Rufus."

Sung grinned down at his cleverest of boys. Of course it was in the storage box for warmer clothing! He had the smartest dog in the galaxy! And Saturday was going to be  **amazing** . He couldn't wait.

  
  
  


Meouch pulled up outside Sungs house and sent off a quick text to say he was outside, ignoring the increasingly panicked texts from their guitarist wondering where the hell they were. Leaving Phobos to stew, Meouch considered very briefly getting up off his own ass and just dragging Sung out of his house when the sight of their normally coned leader balancing said cone, his synth and a box of _something_ , and worse, the something looked heavy.  
“What you got there bud?”, Meouch called out, giving serious consideration to locking the car doors and just driving off.  
“Oh, hey Commander. Just thought that some props might, uft, might make the stream go a bit better.”  
Meouch nodded, just watching as his bandmate struggled with what was obviously a heavy box, his gear and part of his armor. He knew Sung wouldn’t ask for help. He’d been refusing any offers ever since the meme of getting all the groceries in one go surfaced, Havve was probably the only person who could help the Doc without getting told off and that was mostly because he didn’t ask. Figuring it wouldn’t hurt to at least pop the trunk, Meouch did just that and jumped out to at least open the doors from Sung to dump his shit.  
“What is all this crap anyway?”  
“Ponchos. And… at least one 10 gallon hat.”  
Meouch glanced at the thin tank and shorts the Doc was wearing and questioned, “You gunna be okay in a poncho Doc? You have a tendency to run warm.”  
Sung waived him off.   
“I’ll be fine. Besides the ladies love it when I take my jacket off, imagine how much they’ll love it when I whip off this bad boy!”  
Immeadiately Meouch had the image of Sung getting stuck in the fucking, ratty ass looking thing, especially the cone.   
“Sure, everyone will just _looove_ that”, Meouch huffed off a laugh, ignoring the way the Doc beamed at his supposed agreement. “Get in the car already, Phob won’t stop texting to see where we are.”  
Sung hummed in agreement, he knew he was looking forward to this stream too. Just as Meouch switched on the engine, he heard Sung state, “I never knew Phobos would be so excited to play Westerado.”  
“That’s not… That’s not why he’s been texting Doc. Did you not look at the replies to the tweet?”  
“No. I was too busy looking for the ponchos, and playing with Gooby. And doing Stinky’s bootcamp and cleaning all the tiny hands for Fridays stream, and…”  
“I get it, I get it. Um. Look, it’s okay. We’ll meet Phobos at Havves and we’ll explain it there.”  
  
  
Phobos was two houses away from where he was supposed to be, and until he saw Meouchs car he wasn’t going a step closer. Instead he’d stopped, trying to calm himself by near enough burying his entire body into a large mass of rhododendrons. He’d seen the little girl that lived at this house use the surprisingly large plant to hide in before and had wondered what it would be like, to have your body completely swallowed up by something so woody and fragrant. He checked his phone again, a text from Sung saying that Meouch had picked him up and that they should be there soon. Meouch hadn’t replied to any of the texts he’d sent, probably due to driving but still. Absolutely nothing from Havve.  
And that was a little terrifying in itself.  
Normally Havve would text the whole group with something like - “Make sure the Doc doesn’t forget his cone” or “It’s Saturday dickbags, don’t forget”  
Once he just texted a picture of his favourite knife.  
It was a weird way of letting them know he was thinking about them, but they’d gotten used to Havve and his quirks such as they were.  
But today, there’d been nothing. In fact all week there’d been nothing and it was beginning to scare Phobos. Well, not scare, but unnerve.  
Finally - fucking finally - he saw Meouch pulling up to the drive, Sung clearly audible from two houses away, maybe more. Removing himself from the mass of flowers he scuffed his way towards his bandmates.  
“I’m just telling you, if you listen to Catch Thirty Three as one solid piece of music instead of jumping back and forth all over the place, you might actually enjoy it. It was supposed to be consumed as one whole piece.”  
“No.”  
“But.”  
“No! I like music to actually sound like music, not like the instruments are dyin’ and begging to be put out of their misery.”  
“But it **IS** music.”  
“If you say so Doc. Hey Phibbis.”  
Phobos waved, then motioned to the house, then his phone, then the house again.  
“Uh, actually no. I’ve not heard from Havve. But we should be fine to go in, it’s not like him to forget.” Phobos had stopped paying attention, instead looking at Sung as he struggled with his box of props.  
“The fuck is all that?” Phobos asked, concern bleeding into his robotic voice.  
“Ponchos!”  
“Are you sure Sung? You tend to run hot and ponchos are.” The Doc cut him off with an irritated huff.  
“Yeah, yeah, the Commander went through this already. You don’t need to wear one if you don’t want to.”  
Looking at the rather crumpled bolts of cloth that looked like Rufus had been sleeping in them Phobos replied, “Yeah I think I’ll pass.”  
“Spoilsport. HAVVE, WE’RE HERE!”, Sung yelled out into the quiet of the house.  
Phobos stayed glued behind the much taller frame of their bass player as Sung bounded into the house, calling for their drummer.  
Most of the set up in the living area was already in place, some of the humans from Sung’s CGI team milling around in the kitchen area with mugs of coffee, having a quiet discussion on the most complicated process of CGI editing during a livestream - the mustache Sung had insisted on - and giving an almost too friendly wave to the band as they filtered in.  
“Hogan’s with Red at the moment”, one of the humans said. “They’re trying some last minute stuff out and you know how he is.”  
The other three nodded and started fixing themselves some coffee, for some reason the humans added water to it to make it into a drink rather than just eating the grounds, silly humans. Phobos having tried both signaled to one of the humans that he would like a cup made up the earthen way and they assisted in putting together a mug for him.  
  
  
Sung was halfway through his cup of grounds when a robotic boom of “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT”, sounded out from the living room. “SUNG, WHY HAVE TO BROUGHT SOME OF RUFUS’ DOG BEDS INTO MY HOUSE?”  
“THEY’RE CALLED PONCHOS”, Sung hollered back, not bothering to move. “THEY’RE FOR THE STREAM.”  
“AH. THAT IS UNDERSTANDABLE. I AM GLAD SOMEONE ELSE CAME PREPARED FOR THE STREAM.”   
“Hey, all I need is my bass”, Meouch defended, “And my mad gaming skills ‘cause the rest of you suck.”  
“YOU ARE SURPRISINGLY CAPABLE FOR BEING MADE OF MEAT, AND YET SOMEHOW STILL A DISSAPOINTMENT.”  
“What did you bring buddy?” Sung spoke up, genuinely curious as to what other western themed stuff his bandmate may have been hiding from him all this time. Havve reached on top of the fridge - a habit he’d gotten from when they’d all lived together because it was one place the Doctor couldn’t easily reach - and brought down a small box. Opening it revealed a small assortment of, fridge magnets?  
“I don’t get it”, Meouch admitted, picking up one of the magnets from a local zoo.  
“THEN LET ME DEMONSTRATE. LORD PHOBOS, PLEASE COME HERE.”  
Phobos shrunk behind Meouch even more so. Even Sung looked a little concerned.  
“Uh, Havve buddy. Magnets don’t do too well with robotic systems, and.”  
“I AM AWARE DOCTOR. I KNOW WHAT MAGNETS DO.”  
Phobos continued to shrink behind Meouch, not knowing what a magnet would do to him and not really wanting to find out.  
“THE CGI TEAM SHOWED ME A TELEVISION SHOW, IN WHICH THE ROBOTIC CHARACTER HAD AN INTERESTING REACTION TO BEING EXPOSED TO MAGNETS AND AFTER SOME TESTING I HAVE DETERMINED THAT THIS IS THE ONLY WAY WE WILL BE ABLE TO GIVE THE FANS WHAT THEY WANT.”  
“Huh?”  
“LORD PHOBOS, PLEASE COOPERATE.”  
Phobos shook his head, clinging onto the back of Meouch’s flannel.  
A displacement of air came from the drummer’s faceplate. “I HAD HOPED WE COULD BE REASONABLE ABOUT THIS.”  
Picking up a handful of the fridge magnets Havve started throwing them at Meouch, causing him to duck and dodge out of the way. Phobos tried to keep up with the Commander’s dodges but eventually one of the magnets struck him right in the faceplate.

There was a pause. And then.   
  
“ セイヤ セ セ セ セイヤ

セイヤ セ セ セ セイヤ

ソイヤ ソ ソ ソ ソイヤ

ソイヤ ソ ソ ソ ソイヤ

(押忍!) 涙こぼれても

(押忍!) 立ち向かってゆこうぜ ひたすら”   
  
Phobos grabbed his guitar and started to instinctively play along with the foreign words that were being forced from his mouth.   
Meouch had his hands clamped over his ears as Sung, the bastard, was bopping along to the beat. Havve had his head tilted to the side, observing.  
“HOGAN WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?” Meouch yelled.   
Sung grinned. “I quite like it. Not sure what’s happening but it’s catchy.”   
“IT IS CALLED BABY METAL COMMANDER. I THINK I HAVE MISCALCULATED, PERHAPS A NEODYMIUM MAGNET IS REQUIRED FOR LORD PHOBOS TO GO FULL COUNTRY.”   
Havve stalked towards the guitarist and plucked the offending magnet off of the helmet, returning it to its box. Before another magnet could be produced and applied, Meouch stepped between the rather scarred looking guitarist and their determined drummer.   
“Hogan, the fuck?” Meouch demanded in a far more controlled manner.   
“THE FANS REQUESTED BLAKE FIELDS.”    
“So you thought it’d be okay to assault Phobos?”   
“IT IS THE ONLY WAY I CAN BRING MYSELF TO PLAY THAT SHIT. I HAD THOUGHT LORD PHOBOS MAY REQUIRE SIMILAR ENCOURAGEMENT.”   
“Next time buddy, just ask. We’re not bringing any Blake Fields out, no matter how much the fans request it.” Meouch directed this mostly at Sung who’d begun to look excited. “Most of the fans were having a joke anyway, not seriously requesting a Blake Fields livestream.”  
“BUT IT IS IMPORTANT TO GIVE THE FANS WHAT THEY WANT. THAT IS WHY THE DOCTOR CONTINUES TO STRIP OFF DURING STREAMS IS IT NOT?”  
“No, Sung does that for himself.”, Meouch quickly spoke. “Our fans are reasonable, as we’ve seen from last week when we had to cancel the stream, they’re not going to be upset if we stick to the songs we’d already picked and just playing video games. You don’t need to potentially damage your systems for it.”   
“AH. I APOLOGISE LORD PHOBOS. WHILE IT IS GOOD TO KNOW OF ANY POTENTIAL WEAKNESSES YOU MAY HAVE THAT WAS NOT MY INTENT.”   
Phobos weakly stuck his thumbs up to show that he understood that the murderbot wasn’t out to murder him, at least at this point. Still, that had done something fucky to his language settings and he needed a seat to reset himself.   
Sung was glancing between the magnets and Havve with a curious expression on his face.  “How did you even think of this?” he eventually asked, picking up a magnet in the shape of a casino chip and flipping it between his fingers.   
“THE CGI HUMANS CALLED IT ‘FUTURAMA’”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I wrote this, but yeah. Magnets and robotic band members DO NOT MIX.  
> and now I want to watch Futurama again...


End file.
